Harry Potter and the Heir of Ravenclaw
by Salric
Summary: Harry's sixth year, with a new professor who keeps many secrets. Will Harry accept help from others or will he decide to fight the Dark Lord in his own way? Abandoned.
1. 1: Cruciatus Tandem

**Chapter 1: _Cruciatus Tandem_**

He glared around at his loyal Death Eaters. They cowered. They knew they'd failed him. Bellatrix stared up at him. "Bella. You failed." That was all it took for her to get down on her face and start blubbering and grovelling, begging him to spare her. He smirked, and idly raised his wand, when his attention was caught by the newcomer to the circle, who was standing, smirking, and _waggling his finger_.

"Tsk, tsk. Wouldn't do that if I were you, Tommy-boy." Despite his anger, Lord Voldemort noted that the man in front of him was using his left hand for that ridiculous gesture of his and was twirling a wand idly between the fingers of his right hand. He took a moment to study his opponent. Despite his ridiculous pose, the man was very much tensed and ready for action.

Still, this man had insulted him. How _dare_ he use the Dark Lord's pitiful _Muggle_ name? Voldemort moved his wand to the insulting personage in front of him. "Do not call me that. _Crucio_."

The man's smirk disappeared, and concentration appeared on his face for a brief instant as he levelled his wand at the Dark Lord. The Cruciatus hit him, but amazingly, he remained standing, and did not scream. Instead, he choked out a few words. "_Cruciatus Tandem_." Pain filled Voldemort's body, and after a brief struggle, both he and his opponent gave wordless cries of pain before the Dark Lord managed to break the curses.

"Who?" Voldemort was gasping.

The man, incredibly, smirked at him, then Apparated away.

* * *

Harry Potter woke up shaking and reached for his glasses. As his hand closed on them, he heard a very soft pop on the other side of his bed. He dove off his bed and snatched his wand with the hand that wasn't holding his glasses. He quickly shoved his glasses on his face and pointed the wand at the place where the noise had come from.

A man sat there, and after a second Harry recognized him as the man who had cursed Voldemort in his dream. The man spoke, softly. "Good reflexes, boy." His voice was deep and mellifluous, tinged with pain. He continued. "I take it you felt that little episode? My apologies."

Harry managed a weak smile, but didn't lower the wand. "S'all right, I suppose. You hurt him, so it's worth it."

The man grinned, then pulled a wand, turned it around, and handed it to Harry. Harry stared for a second, then took it and put it on the nightstand. His own wand went into a pocket as Harry turned on the lamp. The man blinked a few times, and Harry got a good look at him.

The stranger had shoulder-length jet black hair tied off in the back, a lightly tanned face marred by a pale scar running down his left cheekbone, and seemed rather well-built physically. But it was the eyes that shocked Harry. They were a very familiar emerald green. They were the eyes that he saw every morning in his mirror. His mother's eyes.

The man took in his expression, and nodded. "Allow me to introduce myself. Alexander Smith, bearer of too many titles and connected to too many pureblooded families for me to recite at three in the morning after getting hit by a Cruciatus. The only title that matters right now is 'your new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor.'"

Harry nodded. "I don't suppose you have something to prove that last bit? It's not that I don't trust you, it's just…"

"It's just that you don't trust _anyone_ completely. Good man. That kind of thinking will keep you alive. Has in the past, if half the stories I've heard are true. Bloody Dumbledore and his insane idea of what constitutes 'protection.'" He handed Harry a piece of parchment bearing the Hogwarts crest at the top.

_To Whom It May Concern:_

_The bearer of this letter is one Alexander Smith, Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His integrity may be trusted._

_Signed,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Harry recognized Dumbledore's loopy handwriting and nodded. He handed the parchment back. "So are you a member of…" He stopped, realizing that if this man was in fact _not_ a member of the Order, then talking about it was a bad idea.

"Am I a member of Dumbledore's precious Order? I should say _not_. I'm rather loosely allied with them, but I refuse to join them. I'm a bit of a loner, you must understand, don't like having authority figures ordering me around when I can do a better job on my own. Still, I obey Slytherin's Second Rule of Strategy. 'The enemy of my enemy is my ally.' And Voldemort is most definitely my enemy."

"_Slytherin's_ Second Rule?" Harry's voice held quite a bit of surprise. "What's the First Rule?"

"The First Rule is 'If you don't like the rules of the game, change the rules.' That's rather good advice too. Salazar Slytherin might have been a prejudiced bastard according to some, but if he was, he was an absolute genius of a prejudiced bastard. There's a reason why _cunning_ is one of his House's attributes."

Harry just stared, then started chuckling. "That is good advice, and it sounds like stuff he'd say. Did he play chess, by any chance?"

"Harry…may I call you Harry? Salazar Slytherin was the one who _invented_ wizard chess. The Muggle game was already around, but he was the one who modified it."

Harry nodded. "Right then. To more important questions. What the hell are you doing in my bedroom at three in the morning?"

Professor Smith had the grace to look abashed. "Ah, well, to be perfectly honest, it didn't occur to me until _after_ I pulled that little stunt that you might be feeling it, despite the fact that I knew about your link, so I decided to pop over and make sure you were functional." He reached into a pocket and pulled out a vial of sky-blue potion. "Mild pain-relief and muscle-relaxant potion, that is. Mostly used to help people sleep off aches from strenuous physical activity. No bad side effects, but don't combine it with Dreamless Sleep unless you want to sleep for a week. I'll be around, stop by at least once a week, if that's all right with you?"

"As long as future visits are at a more reasonable hour." Harry took the vial from the Professor and handed the man's wand back. Professor Smith nodded, and Apparated away with a soft cracking sound, followed by a whoosh as air rushed to fill the space he'd just been. Harry climbed back into bed. He put his wand back on the nightstand, downed the contents of the vial, and switched off the light. He was asleep again within a minute.


	2. 2: A Morning of Noisy Wisdom

**Chapter 2: A Morning of Noisy Wisdom**

The morning brought noise. Specifically, it brought the usual yell from Harry's Uncle Vernon downstairs. "BOY!"

Harry sighed, hopped out of bed, threw on some of Dudley's old clothes, and walked down the stairs. "Yes, Uncle Vernon?"

His Uncle was a little red in the face, but not purple yet, which was a good sign. "This…gentleman is a solicitor. Says he's here to see you about an inheritance of some sort. Who's leaving money to _you_?"

For the first time, Harry noticed Professor Smith sitting in the living room, wearing a perfectly normal Muggle suit. The only exception to the sheer normality was his lapel pin, which was the Hogwarts crest in miniature. The professor took the time that Harry had spent staring to answer. "Ah, Mr. Dursley, Mr. Black isn't able to leave money to Harry here, or at least not yet. Any money left to a minor by anyone other than their birth parents is to be held in trust by the bank until that minor's seventeenth birthday. No, Mr. Black left Harry with a piece of property that's to be left in trust with Mr. Remus Lupin, again until Harry's seventeenth birthday. I'm Mr. Lupin's solicitor as well as the executor of Mr. Black's will, you see, and I'm here to discuss said piece of property and a few other matters with Harry on behalf of Mr. Lupin. May we have some privacy? My records say that Mr. Black was Harry's legal guardian, and…hmm…the will hasn't been formally read yet, we'll need to arrange a date for that with the bank and the other parties involved…but until it's been read, the law says that he's to be treated as an emancipated minor."

Vernon's face was a little redder, but he simply said, "Right, then. Ah, do you happen to know if the boy's parents left him anything then, Mr. Smith?"

Smith ruffled through some papers, muttering, "Hmm, let me see, ah yes. They left a substantial sum of money and quite a bit of property in trust with the bank until his seventeenth birthday, with a stipulation that any living expenses by his legal guardian or guardians be paid back in full from the inheritance. They also left him a smaller trust fund to be held by the bank until his eleventh birthday which is only to be used for school supplies and pocket money until his seventeenth birthday, at which time the remaining money is to be combined with his primary inheritance."

Vernon nodded. "So we're to be repaid for his living expenses, then?"

"I believe that Mr. Dumbledore made an arrangement with you to cover living expenses, and he was named legal guardian in the event that Mr. Black was unable to perform his duties, so yes, you are, but not directly by the will, you see. If you need help with having Mr. Dumbledore keep that arrangement, I'd be glad to act as your solicitor. Here's my card."

"Right. Thanks then. I'll leave you two be, then." Surprisingly, Vernon took the perfectly ordinary business card, which Harry could see said 'Smith Legal Services, All Cases, All People,' and left the room.

* * *

Harry stared at his teacher, who merely gave him the tiniest of smirks and gestured towards a chair. "Please, Harry, have a seat. We need to get to business, but first, I'm sure you have at least one question that's not directly related to the will?"

Harry gulped, and nodded. "Since when are you a Muggle solicitor?"

"Since about this time last year, when I got bored and decided to get a certification in British Law to match the one I have in British Wizarding Law. I have one in International Wizarding Law, too, for that matter. Is that all?" Harry nodded, and Smith continued. "Would you like to discuss your inheritance from your parents at all or should I skip to Black?"

Harry gulped again, and managed to get out "I think I understood what you told Uncle Vernon about my parents."

Smith nodded. "Right, then, although I can get the numbers involved to you next time I come, if you want. On to Black's will. Let me see…the parties invited are…Mr. Harry Potter, Mr. Remus Lupin, Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy, Mr. Draco Malfoy, Mrs. Andromeda Tonks, Ms. Nymphadora Tonks, Mrs. Bellatrix Lestrange, Mr. Peter Pettigrew, their next-of-kin if any of the above are deceased, and/or any solicitors any of the above wish to have present, with the stipulation that Mr. Albus Dumbledore, Mr. Lucius Malfoy, and Mr. Rudolphus Lestrange are under no circumstances to be present at the reading, even if any of the above are deceased and they are next-of-kin, under which circumstances…oh, this bit doesn't matter, all of them are alive. The only wishes for disposal of property or monies that are stated before the will reading are that the Black Family Manor, the location of which is currently under Fidelius Charm held by Mr. Albus Dumbledore, shall go to Mr. Harry Potter to be held in trust by Mr. Remus Lupin until Mr. Potter's seventeenth birthday. Is any date for the will reading particularly more convenient or inconvenient for you, Harry?"

"Ah…it'd be easier if we did it before school started up again, I think, but otherwise no. Can I make sure I have what you just told me straight, then?" Smith nodded. "Right, so the invitees besides me and Professor Lupin are Mrs. Malfoy, Malfoy the younger, Tonks and her mother, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Wormtail?"

"In essence, yes, but they're allowed to send their solicitors instead or bring a solicitor along."

"That's as long as the solicitors aren't Dumbledore, Rudolphus Lestrange, or Lucius Malfoy?"

"Got it. And the Black Family Manor…you know where it is, I know where it is, but we're not allowed to talk about where it is…anyways, it goes to you, but Remus is in charge of it until you turn seventeen."

Harry sighed. "It doesn't seem right, you know, getting a house because I got him killed."

Smith's demeanour changed in a second, from businesslike official to caring adult. "Harry, I know exactly what happened that night in the Ministry, and…well, all your friends are going to say it's not your fault, and all your enemies are going to say it was. I'm going to be logical. You can carry a bit of the blame, yes. You let yourself be fooled by a vision and a house-elf. On the other hand, you tried your damnedest to contact people in authority. Dumbledore was out of reach, Snape is the most unhelpful tosser in existence, the house-elf wouldn't let you talk to Black, and you were being beset by enemies in the form of Umbridge and her little Inquisition, and you half-panicked. You acted on the best information you had, went into a combat situation that was six to twelve. You incapacitated eleven and four of yours were incapacitated before reinforcements arrived. Your reinforcements and your remaining original ally got bloody well trounced by their reinforcement—Tommy-boy—and you lost someone you cared about, but then your second reinforcements—Dumbledore—held Tommy-boy until the Ministry actually got its act together. I'll say you did _damned_ good from beginning to end. Six underaged wizards and witches took out eleven highly advanced Dark Wizards with no loss of life, although granted all suffered serious injury. You sprung their trap and overcame it, and yes, you lost Black, but you _won_. You led a battle effectively. Granted, Dumbledore's a better general than you are, but you're the best field commander I've ever seen, and I've seen many.

You lost a man, one you cared about, and you should grieve for him, and you blame yourself for being fooled, and all that, but think about this. Who sent you that vision? Voldemort. Who ordered the house-elf to lie to you? Narcissa Malfoy, who serves Lucius Malfoy, who serves Voldemort. Whose fault is it that Black spent nearly twelve years in prison? Pettigrew, who serves Voldemort. Who actually _killed _Black? Bellatrix, who serves Voldemort. Whose fault is it that there's a war that people like Black can die in going on at all? Voldemort. If you want to take your share of the blame for Black's death, by all means take it, but give other people their share of it too! Blame Voldemort. Blame Bellatrix. Blame Snape. Blame the bloody house-elf. Blame Narcissa, Malfoy, Pettigrew, Fudge, Umbridge, Dumbledore, hell, blame _me_. Do you know what I did during that battle? I went to go harass Malfoy's reinforcements, which were led by Pettigrew. I'm the one that made sure the only reinforcement they _got_ was Voldemort. But I could have taken them out at the Ministry, and taken Bellatrix too, and Black would be alive. I take my share of the blame. I didn't _like_ Black particularly, but he was a distant relation, my third cousin to be specific, I respected him, and he was a good man."

Harry's jaw dropped during this speech. This man he barely knew was telling him not that Sirius' death wasn't his fault, but that it wasn't _all_ his fault, that there were others who had at least as much blame due to them as himself, and this man was making sense…and wasn't finished, just pausing for breath.

"More to the point, Harry, what's a better way to deal with this? Sitting around and engaging in a guilt-fest for his death, or _living_? Live for him, fight for him, fight for the cause he fought for, the cause he believed in, the cause he gave his life for. That's what he did for your parents, you know. He fought for them, fought for the cause they believed in, the cause they gave their lives for. And, like them, he fought for you and all the children like you that they wanted to grow up without a war. You're not a child anymore, I grant you, but fight for the children that you don't want to grow up like you. _Do what you can_."

Harry nodded. Smith was right. He had to fight. For Sirius, for his parents, for everyone who'd been lost to this war. "Thanks, Professor."

"Any time, Harry. I've lost friends to this war too, too many friends." An expression of old pain sat on his face.

"Um, Professor? Did you know my parents or Sirius at all well?"

"No, Harry, I didn't. I'm a bit younger than them, you see. I knew your parents a little, and I knew Sirius from family gatherings, but I wasn't close to them. Remus and I got along fairly well. Ironically, though, of all the Marauders, I was only actually friends with Peter. The Peter I knew died a long time ago, though, and only scraps of his ghost inhabit the shell that serves Voldemort." With that, Smith gave a wistful sigh, and piled his papers back into a briefcase. "I'd best be going then. I'll send you an owl with the date of the reading, and Remus and I will arrange your transportation there. Here's my card if you ever get in trouble with the law. I'll see you around." He snapped the briefcase shut, stood, and nodded. He opened the door, nodded to Mr. Dursley and exchanged a few polite words with him, and left.


End file.
